


In Truth, Love

by Elayna



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: First Time, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, jinnobi challenge 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16443305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elayna/pseuds/Elayna
Summary: A diplomatic mission is disrupted by a strange illness of Obi-Wan's.





	In Truth, Love

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan to the great Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, did not regard himself as a prideful man. And yet, he was always very conscious of performing at his very best, and the importance of being a satisfactory partner to his Master. Feeling as if he might disturb important diplomatic negotiations because he could not control a mere cough was agony to his sense of dignity and worth. 

At first, when he felt the tickle in his throat, he was able to swallow and coax it down. Unfortunately, it returned, a strange sensation, almost a fluttering, like something was caught in his throat. Surrendering to the inevitable, he gave a little cough, hoping to clear it, but that one cough suddenly became a series. He tried burying his mouth in his elbow, letting the thick fabric of his tunics absorb the moisture he expelled, but glancing up, could see several of the delegates looking at him. 

Giving an embarrassed smile, he said, "I'm sorry for my disturbance. Please continue."

"You are not feeling well?" the lead delegate of the Aervilians asked, her purple feathers quivering with curiosity. 

"It's only a cough," he answered dismissively, giving a sideways glance at his Master. Qui-Gon expression was impassive, but then he was expert at a façade of dispassionate interest in negotiations. At least he didn't appear actively annoyed at his Padawan's inability to control a mere cough. 

"We should have refreshments," the lead delegate said, before turning to look at the servant standing by the door. "Refreshments, and water for our young Jedi visitor." The servant nodded deferentially and left. "We will have a break now, to stretch our limbs," she declared, and both sets of delegates began shifting, rising from their seats. Obi-Wan cringed internally, though kept a polite expression of appreciation on his face. The negotiations between the Aervilians and the Wolrun had been going well, and there was no way to tell the impact of an unplanned interruption. Qui-Gon hated interruptions, and Obi-Wan hated being the cause of one. 

Then he was coughing again, this time coughs that shook his chest, as he buried his head in his elbow and tried to keep from looking disgusting. He didn't remember anything about either of these races being overly delicate on health issues, but many races were appalled to see someone be unwell, even in such a mild way. The coughs passed and he immediately checked to see how his Master reacted. Qui-Gon looked concerned, and not annoyed, but then he wouldn't. 

"I'm sorry, Master, I've interrupted the negotiations." 

"A break can sometimes be a welcome way to start fresh," Qui-Gon said dismissively, as Obi-Wan mentally added, 'and sometimes NOT,' again feeling embarrassed. "Perhaps you should use the fresher and splash some cold water on your face." Giving a frown, he reached out a hand to Obi-Wan's elbow, "Did you cough this out?" 

Qui-Gon gently poked at Obi-Wan's elbow, where what appeared to be a red flower petal rested on the tan fabric of Obi-Wan's tunic. 

"I guess?" Obi-Wan answered hesitantly, before taking Qui-Gon's advice to escape the room. In the fresher, he banged his head on his reflection in the mirror, giving himself permission to be annoyed. "Brilliant, Obi-Wan, brilliant." Qui-Gon had been his Master for most of a decade now, and Obi-Wan counted himself the most fortunate Jedi Padawan at the Temple. Qui-Gon could be a bit of a maverick, but was truly the most respected and accomplished Master of all the Jedi. His ability to bring peace was legendary, almost as impressive as his amazing good looks and attractive body. 

"You are so doomed," Obi-Wan admitted to his reflection. Admiring his Master was his secret pastime. It had started as the devotion of a child for the main adult figure in his life, but had grown over the years to be a deep and intense love. Qui-Gon was everything that Obi-Wan wanted in a man and a romantic partner, and he couldn't imagine anyone else being comparable. How was he going to get through the rest of his life when he had already met perfection, and he wasn't available? 

"Focus, Padawan," Obi-Wan muttered to himself. He didn't have to get through the rest of his life, but the rest of the day, where he would interject at appropriate moments to keep negotiations moving and on track. And NOT COUGH. 

He examined the red petal on his tunic, and it did appear to be a petal. Had he actually coughed it out of his mouth? He'd taken a short walk in the gardens in the morning, surely it had fallen on his sleeve and he hadn't noticed it until he'd coughed on it. Yes, that must be the answer. 

Obi-Wan rinsed his face, made sure his tunics were straight, and headed back to the negotiations, determined to be the perfect Padawan. 

~~~~

"I am so sorry, Master," Obi-Wan moaned hours later, falling back on the couch in their suite, and covering his face with his arm. He rapidly removed it when he realized that was the arm coated with the remains of the disgusting saliva-covered petals. 

"I believe we should ask for a physician to look at you." 

"My anatomy is not very similar to either the Aervilians or the Wolrun, Master. I don't think a local physician could be very useful." 

"Perhaps not, Padawan, but this cannot continue." 

No, it couldn't. It had indeed continued far too often that afternoon, Obi-Wan regularly having to slip out of the negotiations to cough, a cough that had become increasingly intense. The single petal had not been a fluke, a stray remnant from the garden, but a precursor of what would become numerous petals Obi-Wan had vomited on his sleeve. 

"Perhaps I should just remain in the room tomorrow," Obi-Wan offered, a suggestion that seemed to irritate Qui-Gon. "Maybe this will pass." 

"I need your support, Padawan." 

I wish you needed more than that, Obi-Wan thought, but kept the words in his throat, where he could feel the cough starting to develop again. 

Qui-Gon stalked to the door. "I'm going to find a physician."

Obi-Wan wanted to object again, but instead curled on his side, his body shaking with the force of his coughs. He felt both miserable and ridiculous, such a minor symptom having such a devastating impact on his body. 

Qui-Gon hesitated, clearly torn between comforting his Padawan or seeking assistance, when a knock sounded. He opened the door to find one of the Aervilians in the doorway, the white tips of the being's feathers signifying an advanced age. "I'm sorry, but my Padawan is not well. We cannot have visitors now." 

"Yes, I know. Is it true? He has the Hanahaki? He must be a very special one, indeed." 

"Special?" That seemed a strange term for someone who had so clearly suffered an uncomfortable afternoon, but if this being knew something useful about Obi-Wan's affliction, Qui-Gon was willing to listen. 

"Special, yes." The elder advanced, Qui-Gon stepping aside as she headed straight to Obi-Wan, still on the couch, but his coughs had subsided to throat clearing. She poked a finger at the flower petals on his robe. "The Hanahaki is very rare, and only comes to those with deep and intense emotions." 

Qui-Gon was aware that Obi-Wan had been very emotional as a youngster, but had worked hard to channel his emotions into the Force and focus on his responsibilities. His emotional maturity seemed to have little relevance to a disease. These days, Qui-Gon was usually considered the more emotional of the two. "What do you mean? Why would someone's emotions make him vulnerable to a disease?" 

"Among many species, it is documented that emotional stress can make one vulnerable to physical disease," Obi-Wan offered, "but I assure you, I keep my emotions balanced."

The facial feathers made the Aervilian's expressions hard to read, but to Obi-Wan's eyes, she seemed to be impatient with him. "Too balanced, perhaps, young one. You need to speak your truth. Let your emotions free. It is the only way to cure the Hanahaki." 

Qui-Gon was beginning to be sorry for having let the elderly being into the rooms. "I'm sorry, but my Padawan needs a physician. If you could leave, I would like to let him rest." 

"The physicians will not tell you of the Hanahaki, Master Jedi. They believe it is an old superstition. But I recognize it, I do. He needs to speak his truth."

"My Padawan is not dishonest," Qui-Gon snapped. Obi-Wan was one of the best people Qui-Gon had ever known. He was tactful, as all Jedi needed to be, probably more tactful than Qui-Gon himself, but not dishonest. 

"It's not a matter of dishonesty, Master Jedi. There is a thing you don't say, isn't there, young one? A secret you keep to yourself?" 

For a second, Obi-Wan blanched, as if the elder had struck a chord, but then his features smoothed out again. With humor in his voice, he answered, "I find Master Yoda's syntax irritating and often wonder if he's doing it deliberately, Master Windu is frequently too uptight to the point of tediousness, and the special chocolate dessert that the kitchen makes is way too sweet for me. I never mind giving my share to Qui-Gon, though I let him think it's a noble sacrifice for me." 

Qui-Gon noted that momentary lack of facial control and wondered about it, but let Obi-Wan's casual recitation persuade him that the elder was wrong to suppose the existence of some deep, dark secret. 

"Hmm." The being peered at Obi-Wan from under lowered eyelids. "Tell a lie to keep him happy, do you?" 

"But one of these days," Obi-Wan continued, "I'm going to beat him in a lightsaber battle, and I promise you, I'm going to – " 

What Obi-Wan would do after defeating Qui-Gon was lost in another spasm of coughing. If Obi-Wan ever managed to knock Qui-Gon's lightsaber out of his hands and pin him, Qui-Gon could think of many things that he wouldn't mind Obi-Wan doing, but now hardly seemed an appropriate time to dwell on the prospect of a sweaty kiss. 

"That's enough." Qui-Gon gently but firmly cupped the being's elbow with one hand, and escorted her to the door and out of their room. "We appreciate your input, goodbye." He shut the door in her face and hurried to the fresher, bringing back a dampened cloth to wipe Obi-Wan's face. 

"I'm going to find a physician. Comm me if you need me to return immediately." 

Obi-Wan waved one hand weakly. "Actually, a few blood tests sound like a good idea right now." 

Qui-Gon allowed himself the luxury of briefly stroking Obi-Wan's cheek in reassurance, and hurried out, determined to find a medical treatment for his Padawan's affliction. 

The court physician made a thorough examination of Obi-Wan, though he was clearly a bit disconcerted at the amount of Obi-Wan's skin without any kind of covering. "No feathers," he murmured several times. He did take blood samples, and promised to transmit them to the healers at the Jedi Temple. 

Obi-Wan mentioned the elderly being's diagnosis of the Hanahaki Disease, which brought an irritated ruffling of feathers, and an abrupt dismissal of "Superstition!" The elder had predicted correctly, Obi-Wan mused, and pressed for more of an explanation. "But what is it? What did she mean, that I had to speak my truth to cure it?" 

"It is an old belief that an individual is suppressing feelings and needs to reveal them." 

That only affirmed what she had said. Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon, who gave a small grimace, though whether of irritation or frustration, Obi-Wan couldn't tell. 

"But where do the petals come from?"

"The belief is that a plant is growing inside the person afflicted, releasing the petals, and that once the person has told their truth, the plant will be vomited out, curing the person." 

That was definitely a grimace of irritation with superstitious nonsense, Obi-Wan thought, but Qui-Gon only asked, "What should we do?" 

"Keep him comfortable," the physician advised. "Light fluids to keep him hydrated. Hopefully, your healers will be able to make a diagnosis. I will analyze these samples tonight and send them the results immediately." 

"Thank you," Qui-Gon said, letting the physician out as Obi-Wan engaged in another coughing bout.

"If only it wasn't so revolting," Obi-Wan groused, looking at the mess on the washcloth that Qui-Gon had brought from the fresher. "Flower petals are beautiful and delicate, but not when covered with bile." 

"Do you feel you can eat or drink something?" Qui-Gon, taking the cloth to rinse it out. 

"I can give it a try," Obi-Wan replied, but he knew he sounded dubious. Food did not sound appealing with his stomach in such a turmoil. 

"I'll let the chamberlain know that we will not make the formal dinner tonight and see if something light can be brought here." 

Qui-Gon was gone before Obi-Wan could protest. He knew he wouldn't be able to sit through a meal without being an embarrassment, but felt guilty at keeping Qui-Gon away. The evening meals were often useful places to discuss issues of contention without the formality of being in the negotiation room. Sprawling back on the bed, Obi-Wan threw his arm over his eyes, belatedly grateful that he had removed his outer tunic earlier. "Great, just great," he muttered to himself. Now his illness was not only ruining his ability to participate, but also Qui-Gon's. 

The illness also ruined Obi-Wan's ability to eat and drink. He gave it a try, sipping some water and taking a few bites of a savory dish, but everything came back up with his next coughing spell. 

"Just try to rest," Qui-Gon said, smoothing his hand over Obi-Wan's forehead. "Relax." 

Obi-Wan could hear the Force suggestion in the word, and didn't fight it, drifting off into a gentle slumber. Distantly, he could hear Qui-Gon removing his boots, socks, and belt. Obi-Wan wasn't sure how long the respite lasted, but it wasn't long enough until he felt the next flutter, and had another coughing spasm into the wet washcloth. "I hate this."

"Hopefully, the healers will be able to send some advice in a few hours. Just keep trying to rest." 

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, taking deep calming breaths and shutting his eyes. 

If only his Padawan wasn't quite so beautiful, Qui-Gon thought, as he quietly ate his own dinner, watching over Obi-Wan. The illness already seemed to make him a little gaunt, accentuating his cheekbones, but otherwise he was just Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan of the beautiful eyes and beaming smile, the lithe body and brilliant mind. Qui-Gon had worked with many Jedi and probably hundreds of others in his career, but never with anyone who delighted and challenged him as Obi-Wan did. His Padawan would soon be ready for his trials, a thought that was both pleasing and dismaying. He wanted Obi-Wan to achieve his goal, to prove his worth as a Jedi Knight, but hated the thought of losing him. Too many complicated political issues faced the Republic. Unless they were bonded Knights, they were unlikely to ever work together again. They might run into each other occasionally at the Temple between missions, able to share a meal before one had to leave again, but that would be the extent of their togetherness. 

Finishing his meal, Qui-Gon removed his own boots and sunk into a meditative pose. Clearly, he needed to find some balance in his own emotions. 

The night was long and difficult, punctured by Obi-Wan experiencing regular coughing attacks. 

"I think the petals are getting larger," Obi-Wan said sometime in the early morning. "As if the plant is growing." 

"There can't be a plant growing in you," Qui-Gon snapped, feeling frustrated and worried, but privately agreeing with Obi-Wan's observation. 

"What if there is?" Obi-Wan asked. "Isn't it theoretically possible?" 

"Your body is hardly a garden." 

"There is…" Obi-Wan hesitated, and stroked his hand over his stomach. He had never gathered the strength to change into night attire, only removed his boots and sashes. "This strange feeling, like there is a mass in my stomach." 

Qui-Gon nudged Obi-Wan's hand out of the way, placing his hand instead on Obi-Wan's stomach. Though he always respected Obi-Wan's privacy, he couldn't help but know his Padawan's body well from their sparring, frequently sharing a room and changing clothes together, as well as the occasional stares that he hadn't been able to control. He was considerably alarmed at the mass he could feel, Obi-Wan's abdomen distended by something solid under his skin. Something new and very, very wrong. Was it a tumor of some sort? Could a tumor grow that fast in a humanoid? Or had it been growing slowly and was finally about to erupt? Qui-Gon kept his voice steady. "You're right, there does appear to be something solid under your skin. I'm going to comm the healers." 

He patted Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Try to sleep," he advised, before leaving him. Outside of the palace, he ran at Force-enhanced speed through the empty roads to the spaceport, feeling desperate to do something, anything to help. In their ship, he recorded a thorough report to the healers, including even the elderly being's superstitious rambling of hanahaki disease, and promising to send blood samples as soon as the court physician processed them. The message would take hours to arrive at Coruscant. Perhaps he should take Obi-Wan and start the journey back? Or would it be better to remain where medical assistance was available, even if the physicians here knew little about non-feathered humanoids? 

Qui-Gon exited the ship, having decided that they should wait for a response. Leaving would be too risky, if something went badly wrong with Obi-Wan while they were in space. Hopefully the Jedi healers could provide some guidance that the court physician could handle. Qui-Gon sped back to the palace, pleased to find Obi-Wan dozing, and settled down on the chair next to him. He wrote a politely worded comm message to the lead delegate of the Aervilians, withdrawing from assisting with the negotiations until his Padawan was well, thinking as he re-read the message that Obi-Wan would be both impressed with his tactfulness and horrified to be the cause, but Qui-Gon couldn't leave him to suffer alone. After sending the message, he willed himself to fall asleep too. There was nothing to do but wait. 

~~~ 

Waking to find himself coughing up rose petals was painful, making Obi-Wan slow to realize that his coughs were being echoed by a deeper voice. Qui-Gon was similarly engaged, and from the number of petals fluttering from his mouth, his condition was already advanced. "Oh, Master," Obi-Wan murmured in dismay. "I am contagious. I should have gone to the infirmary and sent you away." 

Qui-Gon waved one hand casually. "I wouldn't have stayed away, Padawan. I wouldn't leave you in this condition."

"But now you have it too."

"Yes, but I have sent a message to the healers. As soon as they respond with what can be done, the court physician can help both of us." 

"Assuming that the healers know what to do." 

"Be optimistic, Padawan. Live in the moment." 

The moment, in Obi-Wan's opinion, had been miserable for over a day now, and he couldn't stand to see his Master go through the same torment of coughing and retching. "Do you suppose that the elderly being was correct, Master? That I need to tell my truth and I'll be healed?"

"I sincerely doubt that we both have a truth to hide, Obi-Wan." 

No, of course, they wouldn't. Qui-Gon wouldn't admire, love, and lust after Obi-Wan as Obi-Wan did after him. The elderly being's advice was undoubtedly nonsense. And yet… surely his brain was muddled by illness and hunger, because Obi-Wan felt a compulsion to confess, to say what he'd been wanting to say for years now. "I do have a truth I've been hiding, Master." 

"Do you? You may tell me anything, I hope you know that. There is no reason to hide from me." 

"Oh, Master." Obi-Wan gave a cynical bark of laughter. He shifted on the bed, bunching the pillow under his head to raise it, the better to watch his Master, to see his astonishment and dismay at Obi-Wan's confession. Obi-Wan could tell that something was seriously wrong with his body, an illness that he doubted could be fixed. If this was indeed his end, a death not in battle, fighting for a noble cause, but merely in his bed, an inconvenience stopping important negotiations, he wanted to die with his truth revealed. "I love you, Master." 

"And I you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said without hesitation.

"No, Master, not as my Master. Well, certainly, as my Master, and as a fellow Jedi, but also as a man. As a handsome, sexy, intelligent, stubborn man. As a man I would love to…" Obi-Wan's words faltered before continuing. "To kiss, to caress, to strip you naked and see you in only your glorious skin. To touch you, caress you, suck you… suck your cock," he said firmly, defiantly. "To feel your fingers in my ass, stretching me for you, to feel you sink into me. To know the full extent of your power, your passion. 

"And not just for sex, though that's what often drives me mad with want. To wake beside you, and drink our morning tea together, because we want to be together for the rest of our lives, because we choose to, not because Yoda thought we would be a good match." 

Obi-Wan was amazed he had managed such a long speech, but the interruption finally came, his chest spasming with the power of his coughs. He scooted so that his head was over the floor, knowing he wouldn't make the fresher in time. Idly, he thanked the Force that the floor was a polished stone and not fabric of some variety, as his body shook, feeling as if he would be torn in two. This time the vomit coming up from his stomach seemed more substantial than the flower petals, as if some solid mass was making its painful way up his esophagus. Obi-Wan felt his jaw widen, as something emerged, dropping to the floor with a solid thunk. Not more flower petals, but a solid object, a brown stick, with what appeared to be roots at one end and three short branches from the other. "It's a plant," Obi-Wan said numbly, staring at it. "I had a plant growing inside me." 

"It appears that the elderly being was correct," Qui-Gon said. "How do you feel?" 

Obi-Wan waited for a moment, concentrating on his body. "Better, Master," he admitted. "The mass is gone, and I feel no likelihood of throwing up. I think I might even be hungry." Definitely hungry, he thought, the unexpected fasting catching up with him. He supposed he should be mortified, and would be later, to have said such truths to his Master, but at the moment, he was only relieved that this ordeal appeared to have ended. Even if Qui-Gon was appalled to hear his honesty, Obi-Wan knew he would be kind in his rejection. 

Qui-Gon was coughing again, more petals fluttering from his thin lips. 

Obi-Wan's heart beat a little faster. Was Qui-Gon hiding a secret too? Maybe he hadn't found Obi-Wan's feelings displeasing? "Master? Did you have a truth you needed to reveal?" 

"Can I be less brave than my Padawan? I feel the same as you," Qui-Gon admitted. "I have dreaded the day when you will take your trials and become an independent Knight, for you will leave me. These last few years have been the happiest of my life, being with you every day, and I have come to love you, very deeply." 

Could this hellishness be turning so perfect, so suddenly? "Master, you … love me? As a man?" 

"Yes, as a man, Obi-Wan. As a man who is too young for me, as a man I have not wanted to feel obligated, but as a man that I have yearned to caress, to kiss, to have you in my bed." The look that Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan was almost searing in its intensity. "I want to suck your cock too, and feel your lips around mine, and stretch you open and bury my cock in you. I want to watch your beautiful eyes as you come undone." 

Then Qui-Gon was leaning over, spasms wracking his body, as a smaller plant emerged from his lips and dropped to the floor. Qui-Gon sat back in the chair, one big hand smoothing down his front, and Obi-Wan understood the need to feel that all was right with his own body. 

"Master." Obi-Wan eyed the mess on the floor. "This is truly a revolting way to end up confessing one's love." 

"I could wish that the Aervilians had a less disgusting old belief." Qui-Gon stood, and with little fanfare, scooped Obi-Wan into his arms. 

"Master! You've been ill." Obi-Wan threw his arms around Qui-Gon's neck. 

"Not as long as you. I still feel quite strong." 

"You are," Obi-Wan said admiringly, waiting to be carried to the other room, to Qui-Gon's bedroom. "Very strong." Instead of the bedroom, he found himself deposited in the fresher. 

"While you wash yourself, I'll have the mess cleaned up and some food brought for you." 

A horrible uneasiness passed over Obi-Wan at Qui-Gon's abruptness. "Master?" 

Pausing in the doorway, Qui-Gon looked Obi-Wan up and down, the full extent of his desire very clear and plain on his face. "I meant every word I said, Obi-Wan, and we have much to discuss. But you are still my Padawan, who has been ill. I would have you clean and fed before we talk more." 

Reassured, Obi-Wan smiled and nodded. "Yes, Master." 

Qui-Gon's fists clenched. "You will say those words in my bed, Obi-Wan, those and many more." 

"I'm counting on it," Obi-Wan purred, feeling mischievous, and quite pleased when Qui-Gon fled the room. 

~~~

Qui-Gon was grateful that the palace chamberlain had been keeping an attendant stationed by the doors to the suite. Getting the mess cleaned up and food brought was quickly accomplished. Feeling optimistic, he turned the sheets down on his bed, found a bottle of massage oil to set on the nightstand, and took off his boots and socks. That seemed enough preparation, ready for what he hoped would happen but not too presumptuous. He waited, drinking a cup of tea, until Obi-Wan emerged from the fresher, a white towel around his waist. His Padawan already looked much better, his face still a little gaunt, but definitely attractive with his skin rosy from the heat of the water, his spiky hair lightly touched with moisture. 

"Do you feel like eating?" He gestured to the tray. 

"I am quite hungry." Obi-Wan sat, seeming unconcerned about the lack of clothes. He removed the cover from the tray, beginning to take delicate bites from the food, which was generally palatable, but occasionally strange, as it was made by cooks who were accustomed to the tastes of feathered beings. "It's quite good." 

"I find the scenery quite appealing too," Qui-Gon said, pleased when Obi-Wan flashed him a grin. In all the scenarios he had imagined, he had somehow discounted his Padawan's impishness. 

"You thought we should talk." 

Obi-Wan was clearly going to let Qui-Gon take the lead, as the more experienced one. 

"We agree, we are in love with each other." 

A nod. 

"We want to remain together as bonded Knights?" 

Another nod, a vigorous one. 

"Then after you feel up to it, we shall retire to my bed and fully acquaint ourselves with each other. Later on, we shall send a message to the Council, letting them know that you are recovered, and that after you have taken your Trials, they should take our status as bonded Knights into consideration when planning future missions. We shall not be separated ever again." 

"I am absolutely and completely in agreement with that plan." Obi-Wan put the cover back on the tray. "And find that I am not quite as hungry as I thought." Rising, he snagged his fingers into the towel, letting it drop to the couch. 

Qui-Gon felt his mouth go dry at the sight before him, Obi-Wan, unabashed in his nakedness, his body strong and well-formed, his cock half-hard. "It's probably wise to let your stomach rest a bit before eating too much," he agreed. "I feel bad that my illness was of such short duration." 

"I don't." Crossing the few feet that separated them, Obi-Wan sat on Qui-Gon's lap, burying his hands in Qui-Gon's long hair. "It means you have the strength to lift me and carry me to your bed." 

The suggestion sounded quite excellent to Qui-Gon, who promptly rose, his arms under Obi-Wan's bare buttocks, and walked toward his bedroom. Obi-Wan's weight was a comfort in his arms. Their lips met for the first time, the kiss unhurried and thorough, each one learning the taste and feel of the other. 

"My Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon laid him down on the bed. Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan, was finally in Qui-Gon's bed, where he belonged. 

"My Qui-Gon. You have too many clothes on." 

Qui-Gon undressed quickly, dropping his clothes to the ground. Naked, he stood by the bed, letting Obi-Wan look his fill, as he had looked at Obi-Wan. "I hope I please you." 

"My Master," Obi-Wan breathed with reverence. Qui-Gon, his Master, was tall, well-built, his cock already filling with blood, and he was all Obi-Wan's. 

"I intend to earn that title in all ways," Qui-Gon promised. 

"Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan stretched his arms over his head, pleased to be displaying his body so openly for Qui-Gon. He bent one leg, placing his foot on the bed, opening his legs. "You can start now." 

"In a moment." Qui-Gon stroked one hand down Obi-Wan's torso. "You've lost some weight."

"I am a Jedi." Obi-Wan carelessly shrugged his shoulders. "I have lost as much if not more on many missions gone wrong." 

"It has always pained me when you did." 

"As I have been pained when you suffered or were injured. But I feel only impatience now, not pain." He caught Qui-Gon's hand, pulling it down to his cock. "I am not a delicate flower. I want to feel your strength." 

"One thing you will learn about me as a lover is that I will set the pace." Qui-Gon tugged his hand free from Obi-Wan's clasp, though to Obi-Wan's relief, he did sit on the bedside. 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan threw his arms over his head again. "Master me." 

"That request I will fulfill." His Padawan was so delectable, warm, willing, responsive. Qui-Gon took his time, plundering Obi-Wan's lips with his own, sucking a bruised mark onto the soft skin of his throat, tonguing the tight peaks of his nipples until Obi-Wan was writhing beneath him, his hands clenching spasmodically with the need to touch. 

"Qui-Gon, I could have sworn you said something about your cock and my ass." 

"Patience, Padawan," Qui-Gon chided. "Still, you have been very good." Taking Obi-Wan's cock in one big hand, he stroked it long and teasingly, rubbing the wetness around the head. 

Obi-Wan moaned at the touch, his hips arching up wantonly. "Qui-Gon, please."

"My dearest Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon mouthed at Obi-Wan's cock, more teasing. "As soon as I'm in you, you can come." 

"Yes, Master, please?" 

Picking up the massage oil, Qui-Gon coated his fingers, positioning himself between Obi-Wan's thighs. His finger was gentle but insistent, slipping into Obi-Wan's opening, finding the spot that would give Obi-Wan unparalleled pleasure. He kept his touch fleeting, not wanting to push Obi-Wan into coming too soon, as he added a second and a third finger. 

"Your fingers feel so good." 

"As do you, my Obi-Wan." 

Obi-Wan dared to pull the tie from Qui-Gon's hair, freeing the long tresses. The strands of hair falling forward to brush on his skin, the three fingers scissoring inside him now, the other hand resting on the skin of his belly, all the sensations overwhelmed Obi-Wan, who struggled to keep his orgasm in check. His Master was making love to him, a fantasy he had long cherished but never expected to become reality. 

Then Qui-Gon shifted, oiling his cock, as big and long as the man himself, and plunged into Obi-Wan's hole. To his embarrassment, Obi-Wan came with a shout, his seed spurting onto his abdomen, his ass cheeks involuntarily squeezing on the tip of Qui-Gon's cock. "Master, I'm sorry, so sorry. That was too fast." 

"Shhh." Qui-Gon brushed kisses over Obi-Wan's face. The swiftness of Obi-Wan's orgasm was definitely satisfying to Qui-Gon's pride and possessiveness. "I said you could come as soon as I was in you." His hips twitched, his cock slipping in a little deeper. "You've been ill and worn out; I want you to experience pleasure." 

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan didn't feel ill, but he was tired, exhausted from both his illness and the strength of his orgasm. 

"Still," Qui-Gon continued, his voice almost conversational, "You are a Jedi." 

"Master?" 

Qui-Gon caught the lobe of Obi-Wan's ear in his teeth, nibbling, a sensation that Obi-Wan felt race from his ear to his cock. "I bet you have the strength to come again." 

"I'm not sure about that." 

"Obi-Wan, I want you to come again. Come when I come." 

Laughter bubbled in Obi-Wan's chest, but didn't escape. Qui-Gon was being so very Qui-Gon, his Master pushing Obi-Wan to always do just a bit more than he thought he could, never accepting less than Obi-Wan's best. He hadn't expected that trait in the bedroom, but surely he should have. Qui-Gon was ever his own man, true to himself. "Qui-Gon." Obi-Wan buried his hands in Qui-Gon's long hair, making sure their gazes connected, staring into Qui-Gon's deep blue eyes. "Make me."

Qui-Gon's grin was feral, his response non-verbal. Keeping his weight on one elbow, he thrust further and then retreated, a bit deeper into Obi-Wan's body with each stroke, until all of his length fit tightly within Obi-Wan's hole. His free hand rubbed Obi-Wan's nipples, drifted up so his thumb caressed Obi-Wan's bottom lip. Obi-Wan's tongue flicked out, tasting his thumb before sucking on it. 

"Master!" he panted. 

"Yes." Qui-Gon wrapped his hand around Obi-Wan's cock, which was beginning to stiffen. His fantasy of Obi-Wan's responsiveness was becoming reality. "You're doing so well, Padawan." 

"Your cock – " Obi-Wan couldn't talk, couldn't say how good Qui-Gon's cock felt, hitting his sweet spot with each deep stroke inside. With his strong thighs, he squeezed Qui-Gon's hips, rocking with his thrusts. 

"Soon, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan, wet and demanding. "Are you ready to come?" 

Obi-Wan indeed felt ready to come, his cock as stiff as a lightsaber, fluid leaking from the head into Qui-Gon's hand. "Force, yes, please, Qui-Gon." 

"Come, Obi-Wan. Come on my cock." 

Qui-Gon couldn't delay any longer, his orgasm sweeping through his body, the intensity almost too powerful but oh so welcome and blessed. To his relief, Obi-Wan groaned and followed him over the edge, his lithe body shaking with ecstasy. 

Qui-Gon slumped on Obi-Wan's body, too exhausted to hold himself up. His Padawan felt so strong, fully capable of absorbing Qui-Gon's weight. Strange to think he had so recently looked pale and drawn from his illness. When Qui-Gon's breath had returned to normal, he lifted his head from Obi-Wan's neck. Obi-Wan looked too blissed out to move, almost asleep. Freeing himself brought a strangled little noise of protest, but Qui-Gon shushed him, rising to turn off the light, rejoining Obi-Wan, lying on his back and urging Obi-Wan to cuddle into him. He tucked the covers carefully around him. "Sleep, Obi-Wan. You need it still." 

Obi-Wan made a noise that sounded like agreement and drifted off. 

Tomorrow, they would track down the elderly being and thank her for her assistance. What would have happened if they hadn't known what to do? Then Qui-Gon would send a full report to the Council, that Obi-Wan was healed and that they were bonded, before returning to the negotiations. He had no doubt that Obi-Wan would soon be back at his side, fully recovered and able to help settle the peace on this planet. They were Jedi and would do what they must, for now and forever… together. 

~ the end ~

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Merry Amelie for the betaing! 
> 
> This work was inspired by a Fandom_Secret about hanahaki disease. I had never heard of this trope and was inspired to write one, instead of actually reading any. I realize that does not make a lot of sense, but I just need to write when the words are forming. So it may not fit the trope, but it was an interesting writing experience. I hope it is enjoyable reading!


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